Alexander Cross did not raise his voice.That alone told Adrian how bad it was.The conference room at Cross Holdings was sealed tight—privacy glass opaque, phones face-down on the polished table, security posted outside the door. The city stretched beyond the windows in clean, expensive lines, but inside the room the air was heavy, compressed.Alexander stood at the head of the table, jacket still on, hands braced against the wood. His jaw was set so tight a vein pulsed faintly at his temple. He had already read every preliminary report twice. He had watched the footage. He had listened to the legal brief.And he hated all of it.“They raided a bar,” Alexander said finally, voice level but sharpened by restraint. “Not a Cross property. Not a Cross event. He wasn’t hosting. He wasn’t financing. He was present.”Adrian sat to his right, laptop open, fingers flying across the keyboard as he pulled statutes and case law. “Presence alone isn’t enough,” he said. “Not for possession, not fo
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